Beards have become the dernier cri for hipster men in New York to the point where even this most rural-cum-urban of eye-rollingly ironic sartorial touches has surpassed its ironic saturation point. The other day, a friend and I were getting on the L train and a perfect example was getting off as we were getting on, just as we had discussed the subtle differences in beards that can be observed between Brooklynites and Lower East Siders, and because it was funny in one of those ways you can't explain (maybe because he looked like he was trying to look like he got lost on his way back from the moonshine refinery), I elbowed her and said, "Beard." And then it became a game, whenever we passed a guy with one, approximately every six minutes thereafter, to see who could say "Beard" first. I had dinner with an old friend tonight and he has a beard and I had previously stated that I was tired of it, but tonight he came straight from work and was dressed sharply and I kind of liked the contrast. So I give beards my blessing for the moment, with the right ensemble. Also, it's a cheap fun game you can play with your friends. Beard.

“During those years, I came to the conclusion that the only sensible
weapon against the cops could be a film camera. Not that glorious but,
at times, efficient. With a small 16mm contraption, stolen from an
UNESCO drawer, I caught my first demo footage, rather fuzzy, stealing
light from the television people. And that was a turning point in my
film ‘career’ (that despicable word). In another time I guess I would
have been content with filming girls and cats. But you don’t choose
your time.”

Remember when I accompanied Tayari Jones to the PEN/Faulkner Gala in DC, while I was publicizing her novel, The Untelling? We filed a post-party report for The Happy Booker, and today I learned that the familial tale of heartbreaking brevity that Tayari wrote for the occasion, "Some Thing Blue," has been selected to be in the next edition of the prestigious anthology, New Stories from the South, edited by Madison Smartt Bell. Hear it here.

And Anne Landsman, whose novel, The Rowing Lesson, I helped to publicize, was announced as a finalist yesterday for the Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature. It's $100,000. In honor of the occasion, I have five copies to give away to Lux Lotus readers-- leave a comment if you'd like one. Here's a recent interview with Anne on Flavorwire. She'll also be reading on February 25th at Bluestockings.

Ben Greenman, author of, recently, Correspondences, and, soon, Please Step Back, and an editor at The New Yorker (and one of my publicity clients) has a new collaboration with Jack Spade launching next week! Ben has written exclusive stories that appear on a limited edition line of passport covers in three versions: Man, Woman, and Child (pictured above). They'll be available at Jack Spade for $55.

I haven't been in the mood for Windowlicker lately on account of the end of capitalism and everything, except last night I met a friend at Caracas, a Venezuelan restaurant in the East Village, and soon realized that I had forgotten my wallet on my kitchen table because I took it out to sign up for pottery class. I couldn't believe those words as they came out of my mouth. First, I seldom forget anything. Second, what kind of (genius) hippie scam is that!? So, a return to Windowlicker and a return to glamour, as is so clearly necessary at the moment. I love this Dries Van Noten headwrap so much that I ripped the page out from Vogue and scanned it. I don't know the price but will go ahead and guesstimate, "stratospheric," although no doubt much cheaper at Het Modepaleis in Antwerp, just as Commes des Garcons costs about a third less in Japan.

Windowlicker - from the French for window shopping: faire du
lèche-vitrine - often appears on Tuesday and Thursdays at 10am EST-ish.

I went to Cafe Petisco for a late breakfast/early lunch on my way back from running an errand in Midtown and Spike Jonze was there picking up a takeout order. He has a skinny mustache. I had the most amazing Middle Eastern-inspired sandwich and salad -- seriously, I could have licked the plate -- while Astrud Gilberto's "Shadow of Your Smile" played. Cafe Petisco is extraordinary in that it makes the corner of East Broadway and Jefferson Street seem underrated. Highly recommended.

Also, I might take a pottery class. It reminds me of my favorite dis ever, when a writer for The Observer in London said that an unretouched Kate Moss for Vogue "has a sort of Mia Farrow or pottery-teacher hairdo and looks dead-eyed and desiccated." I think it could be fun. My brother the banker could teach a master class in pottery and so he has inspired me (I wish he would write a column for Lux Lotus sometimes; the first edition would be "Romantic Advice From the Former Captain of the Varsity Football Team," answering, in his fantastically deadpan way, my question of what I should say in response to a text message that I found lacking: "The more you want to reply, the less you should."). I am trying to find new ways of tapping into my imagination lately, because my job requires me to be innovative and constantly come up with creative ideas and honestly, if all I did was listen to what "experts" have to say about the "industry" or whatever, I'd never do anything interesting again. I realized this while I was watching Miami City Ballet perform on Saturday. It was just what I needed: lissome, electric, tropical cool.

Last night my best friend since the tenth grade showed up nearly unannounced on my doorstep and it was a perfect surprise! He was on his way to renew his diving coach certification today and we had a lovely tea party by candlelight around midnight -- I showed him my adorable childrens' masks from Edinburgh and we laughed and laughed as we always do -- then again around dawn before he left and then I fell back asleep and when I woke up around eleven it all seemed like the most wonderful dream that I could have. Now I'm going to put on something dashing and go feed my imagination at the ballet. I might even stroll to Gimme Coffee on my way for nostalgia's sake. I remember the one that opened up while I was in college in Ithaca so fondly -- it was an oasis -- and it's a delight to have one in Nolita now! In the meantime, there's plenty new at The New You, including many more books I'd love to send if you'll let me...

I received a lovely email just now from Jessica Turner of Alabama Chanin, kindly and generously correcting my note in last night's Windowlicker that Natalie Chanin of Project Alabama had ceased creating her famous (and famously locally-made) designs. She says Nathalie "has opened Alabama Chanin, it’s the same beautiful clothing and work, still here in Florence and yes sold exclusively to high fashion clients around the nation and world. Natalie even wrote a book called Alabama Stitch Book [and started a blog, Alabama Studio Style]. It tells about the stories and work we do, it has 14 beautiful how-to projects and even gives away our most famous skirt and corset pattern plus some special recipes . We would be so honored to have you guys drop by and visit the new facility, we even have a shop in the front of our facilities! We are located @ 462 Lane Dr Florence, AL 35630 our number is 256.760.1090. We will be posting a newer version of our website soon, but here is the link to our current site: alabamachanin.com." Will do, Jessica, thank you, and thanks for the update. I have never been so delighted to have been mistaken!

My cousin's getting married in Tupelo in May and my siblings and I are, as we say, fixin' to go. My sister and I might even make an extended weekend of it and go on a little roadtrip. I recommend we fly into Memphis, stay at the Peabody, pick up a car, drive to Florence, Alabama ("The Fashion Capital of the Deep South," even if Project Alabama is no more -- updated -- and Billy Reid now has a shop on the Bowery) for a night, then hop over to Oxford for a spell, where my friend Mary's blog, Blueprint for a Southern Home, has me dreaming of the place, and then do our thing in Tupelo (I'll have to read Eudora Welty's Delta Weddingon the plane). And maybe lunch in Birmingham with David if we can swing it! Obviously what I mean to say is that, if I'm going to be doing all that driving (and it's too hot for Steve McQueen-style gloves), I'm going to need the right shoes. I was looking for those sexy '70s-style moccasins with the nubs on the bottom, but then I got distracted by these. And everybody (except the cops and my mother) knows I drive barefoot anyway...